will pass her lips
by Sear
Summary: I am Alayne Stone, truly. But I wasn't always. I wasn't born with that name. Please – ask me no questions and I won't lie to you. But know this, I mean neither you, your House, nor Dorne herself, harm. (Follows "escape"; femslash)
1. will pass her lips

Alayne sings Northern lullabies for the littlest Sand Snakes. They have tired themselves out in the pools of the Water Garden, and comes begging for stories as she sits with Arianne in the shade, working on her latest commission. She trades the asked-for stories for songs, to calm them.

 _The wolf howls in the dark forest_

 _He wants to sleep, but cannot_

 _Hunger tears at his wolf's stomach_

 _And his bed is so very cold_

 _Oh, wolf, you wolf, stay away!_

 _I will never give you my child!_

She follows the Northern lullabies with a Riverlander one that her mother used to sing, and then finishes with a song she learned in the Eyrie. Dorea and Loreza are all but falling asleep when she finishes, and Alayne strokes wet hair out of their eyes. Arianne's eyes are soft as she looks on them; she cares greatly for her cousins. Soon Ellaria comes to claim her youngest for a light meal followed by siesta.

If someone asks about her Northern and Riverlander songs she will simply lie, and say that her mother was from the North, and a beloved nanny from the Riverlands. She could of course prevaricate, say that she heard the songs somewhere, somewhen, that they don't really matter – but that would be the greater untruth. She grew up with those songs. They were the sounds of Winterfell. Old Nan, the maids, the wives of Father's bannermen, they all sang the Northern songs of grief and gladness and strange creatures in the woods. Now that she isn't forced to sing (in any way), she finds that she loves it once more.

The songs of courtly love, knights and maidens fair – those young Sansa had learnt for herself when dreaming of a gilded Southron life. Alayne finds she doesn't care for them at all now, no single note about Florian and Jonquil will pass her lips. Those songs are all lies. Instead she sings the songs of her childhood, and asks for similar Dornish ones. This is something she can share with Arianne. They sing together, of the shifting sands, the heat, the endless ships in Nymeria's fleet, and Alayne's clear voice mingles sweetly with Arianne's huskier one.

* * *

They are in bed, Arianne and her, and moonlight falls sharp across the floor. The hour is late, but Alayne has finally gathered her courage to say something they have only hinted at between them.

"I am Alayne Stone, truly. But I wasn't always. I wasn't born with that name. Please – ask me no questions and I won't lie to you. But know this, I mean neither you, your House, nor Dorne herself, harm."

Arianne looks piercingly at her, then kisses her swiftly and forcefully. Their lips part with a smack.

"I believe you, my flame. You have made a life here now, and were your intentions evil, either I, or my father or uncle would have found out by now. You have harmed no one, and helped many, in your time here. And you give me joy, my flame, so much joy."

* * *

That she has helped other women, as no-one helped Sansa, has been her greatest pride since she came to Dorne. She emulates the women of the boarding house who helped her upon her arrival in Planky Town. Women in Dorne have different (more) rights, so her help has been less about the moon-tea and bruise balm that she used as an excuse to escape Winterfell, and more about giving them a place to stay and help finding their feet. A few of those young women, her Doree among them, she has taught their letters and numbers, to give them better chances at employment. Literacy is valuable.

In one case though, she did need that bruise balm. It was then that she first met Princess Arianne in a more serious setting. A young man could not take no for an answer and his supposed affection for the girl seeking Alayne's help took the shape of split lips and necklaces of bruises. When the city watch could not find him, but he kept tormenting Alayne's young charge, she turned to the ruling House for help. Everyone knew the Martells couldn't abide violence against women, especially after what happened to Princess Elia.

Alayne's impassioned plea for help, and her protectiveness towards Lara, woke Princess Arianne's curiosity. Within days the problem with the elusive, would-be rapist was solved and Alayne was called back to Sunspear. Ostensibly it was for making a new wardrobe for the Princess. While she did fit Princess Arianne for new dresses, their time together was filled with increasingly intimate conversation, and then kisses. When she left those fittings, Alayne's lips were bitten red as ripe raspberries, and she felt drunk. Before long, the Princess was calling upon Alayne in her home and inviting her to Sunspear for more time spent together.

Within a year Alayne joined Princess Arianne's household as her paramour, though she still took commission. She brought with her Doree, as her personal maid. They fit well together, Arianne and Alayne. Arianne had her uncle Prince Oberyn's passion and a wary distance to her father that Alayne could sympathise with. Still, with Westeros in such upheaval ever since the Usurper's death, Alayne would always counsel caution, and even reconciliation with Prince Doran. (Dear Seven, but that made her feel like a hypocrite of the worst order, when she herself could not forgive the family she had abandoned in the cruellest way. Perhaps she is living vicariously through Arianne in this matter.)

Arianne always wanted Alayne to speak her mind, but about this they fought. Arianne's long-held hurt in relation to her father made her cruel. Finding out the truth behind her old misconceptions soothed that old pain. After reconciling with her father, and again being taken into his council about the future of Dorne, she swallowed her pride and apologised to Alayne.

Thus, Alayne was made one of Princess Arianne's advisors. The hard-gained knowledge of navigating politics had never really left her and the Dornish court was far less toxic. Here she also had a status that the child of a traitor simply hadn't had. She has the ear of a Princess. And if the political savvy of a bastard seamstress surprises the high-born, then that was something to use to her advantage and to laugh about later with Arianne.

* * *

/AN: So that lullaby? Not mine, just a rather horrible translation (my own translation at that) of Vargavisan.

/Edit to put in the line breaks that stupid ff-dot-net ate *sigh*


	2. come and gone and come again

War has come and gone and come again. Targaryen royalty has returned; Dorne has allied with the Dragon Queen. As has the North, for a promise of help against the Others. The Mother of Dragons is a formidable force, indeed.

Alayne is fascinated. As Arianne's paramour and one of her advisors, she has a place with the Dornish court. The last Targaryen certainly is impressive to behold up close. Alayne knows a little of her story: orphaned, in the care of a mad, violent brother, sold for an army, but victorious. Always victorious in the end. Daenerys is strong, and life has made her stern, but Alayne sees something of a kindred spirit in her.

Daenerys Stormborn is gorgeous, too. Designing Dornish clothing for her, a gift from the House Martell, is a true privilege. Alayne works with cream silks, pearls and gold, with emerald cloth and copper thread, with blood red and dramatic black. It is easy to create for someone so striking, and the dragons have given her inspiration.

Arianne jests that maybe Alayne will leave her for more high-born pastures still, but there is no risk of that. Alayne is perfectly content with Arianne. They have a passion between them that she hadn't even fathomed before, and through Arianne she has cousins to spoil, and the female friendship she has come to crave, all in the Sand Snakes.

* * *

Alayne is surprised at first when she is invited to the council of Queen Daenerys. Alayne has been in Arianne's confidence from the beginning, but this is acknowledgement she hadn't dared hope for, acknowledgement she isn't even sure she wanted. It turns out that she has perspectives on the other six kingdoms (from that miserable life-never-lived) that the others lack. She knows something of all the Houses Paramount, and many more noble Houses besides, and is familiar with the layout of King's Landing, the Vale and the North.

It is Alayne who tells of the treachery of the Freys and their connection with the Lannisters, for all they are a Riverlander house. Alayne also offers insight into the Vale, and its new Lord, Petyr Baelish. She cautions of King's Landing and wildfire, as well as the cunning but also decency of Tyrion Lannister. And she confirms the scope and the harshness of the North, with the onset of Winter. It truly is that vast and unhospitable.

They listen to her. Even the Queen and her retinue listen to her. Alayne knows that Arianne vouches for her, but in the face of her youth, her bastard surname, it seems inexplicable they should believe that she truly has the knowledge she shares with them. (How could they even suspect?) Some of the knowledge, of Houses, of geography, is simply the domain of the Lord Paramount's daughter that Sansa was. Arianne might guess part of it, though she has kept their pact and asked no questions just as Alayne has strived to be as honest as she can. The sharper secrets and details are even more unfathomable Alayne should know, for they are the fruit of a life-not-lived.

* * *

Strange to think of Targaryen, Martell and Stark brought together again. Hopefully their entanglements will be less bloody this time around. For the Starks are coming to Dorne. They are after all the last part of the alliance.

For Alayne, Robb Stark's impending arrival is sheer terror. Maybe Sansa's death and Alayne's different manners and status in life will protect her from discovery, but she dares not think that. The face that looks back at her from the mirror is too similar to her Lady Mother's, even if it wasn't for her Tully red hair.

Alayne toys with the idea of doing her red mane up in scarves, of changing the shape of her eyes with heavy kohl. She could start a new fashion. She is a beautiful woman with a position at court, if she were to artfully cover her hair with brilliant silk, other women would soon follow. But she will not. When she had first woken in the body of a child, she had run as far and as fast as she could. But now, if those who could recognise her come to Dorne, well, then she will hide no more than she already does.

So. The time for hiding has come to an end. Maybe her relationship with Princess Arianne Martell will be enough protection, maybe not. If it isn't, if she is forced North to be sold for an alliance, then she already knows that she can make it out. If she did it once, she can do it again. Time has only made her wiser and stronger. Alayne has trading contacts in Essos, and valuable skills. She can make her way, make a new life for herself and her maid and first Dornish friend, Doree. She truly loves Arianne, but if they will be separated anyways, then Alayne will fight for her independence to the last. With any luck it will not come to that, though.

* * *

"I was born Sansa Stark."

Difficult conversations seem easier after dark, hidden away in their bed, Alayne has found. So is the case this time, too. Arianne just looks at her, silent.

"Was it what you thought?" Alayne asks.

"No," Arianne replies. "No, with hair like that I had thought of the Riverlands. Maybe a natural born daughter of the Blackfish. Or from a minor house in the North, for your accent. Or, well, even a house in the Vale, since you seem so familiar with it, a runaway trueborn daughter. Well, you are that. But a Stark? Daughter of a Lord Paramount? Hardly." Arianne pauses. "The last Stark maid to come to Dorne didn't fare well."

That is true. Lyanna Stark died.

"Dorne was as far as I could get without going to Essos. And I had heard that women were valued here. I have since found it to be true," Alayne says.

"But what hurt you so, to make you run? What allies will we have from the North?" Arianne looks stern. "I had thought the Starks to be honourable, but anyone who would drive a young maid like you to flee like that, my flame... We need the alliance, but I need to know if we should post extra guards, or if I should try for vengeance."

"It isn't like that! No! I mean it Arianne," Alayne says vehemently. She catches, and holds Ariannes gaze. "I'm a greenseer. I was born with the wolf blood, and I had dreams. I knew already before I came here that the old Hand would die. I knew of the Great Progress North. I knew that the Usurper's so called children were nothing but bastards born of incest, and that the oldest was a monster. And I knew what would happen if I stayed. Suffering, for me, and utter destruction for the Starks. I could not bear it, so I ran. The Starks didn't hurt me." (Lie. Or maybe, truth. This family didn't abandon her in a pit full of scorpions. Didn't all die.)

Something tickles Alayne's cheek. She wipes at it, and her hand comes away wet. Oh. She is crying. This is a conversation she never wanted to have. It has torn up all the old wounds, but she owes it to Arianne. The Northern delegation is set to arrive any day now, and if she is recognised as the dead Stark girl, House Martell cannot be caught unawares.

"Good. I'm glad it wasn't your family who hurt you," Arianne says lowly, tenderly, and embraces her. She presses a kiss to Alayne's temple, and then to her lips.

"So you're a greenseer? Is that how you know so much about the realm?"

"Yes," Alayne says. "It was as if I lived another life, one that I would not wish on my worst enemy. But nothing since that one dream. If the knowledge can benefit house Martell, I'm happy for it."

* * *

There are sails on the horizon. Alayne stands beside Arianne watching them grow ever closer. Soon she can see that the ship is flying the crowned direwolf of the King in the North. She clutches Arianne's hand in a white-knuckled grip, but the cold lump in her stomach only grows. What if she is recognised? What if she isn't?

* * *

/Edit to put in the line breaks that stupid ff-dot-net ate *sigh*


	3. certain rights

Dear, sweet gods. Robb. Dead Robb is alive. This is the oldest Alayne has seen her brother. He is a man now, grown tall and strong, the silly scruff on his face replaced by a real beard. There is a woman at his side. Alayne doesn't recognise her. A wife? A betrothed? Then there are the others, familiar names and sometimes faces: Umber, Karstark, Bolton. Alayne keeps her pleasantly neutral court mask on her face and curtsies along with Arianne.

The Northern lords are given horses for the trip to Sunspear, and then accommodations and a chance to rest upon arrival. It is early evening. Everyone had ridden through the smelting-oven of Dornish afternoon. Rest and refreshments before the evening welcoming feast is sure to be appreciated.

The welcoming feast gives Alayne more opportunities to observe the newly arrived guests. The woman at Robb's side turns out to be Alys Stark, formerly Karstark, his wife of three months. Apparently, their parents had wanted a northern marriage for Robb, Alayne muses. It is a wise choice in many ways, she thinks, with the newly announced independence of the North, and considering Eddard Stark's own southern marriage.

Alayne picks up other tidbits from the dinner conversation. Dead Arya, alive Arya, her wild little sister, has been fostered to the Mormonts of Bear Island. And speaking of sisters, she has a new one, a little sister that she has never seen – will never see. Minisa Stark, recently turned two years. It is so strange to think of.

Once alone with Arianne, Alayne sags. She feels exhausted from the tension that has been mounting ever since she heard of the Northern alliance. And then, nothing. Nothing happened. No one recognised her. Alayne feels giddy and gathers Arianne up in an embrace, spins her around and kisses her. Arianne laughs with her.

After that first meeting Alayne relaxes somewhat, but remains on her guard in the company of the Northern lords. They are after all familiar with Catelyn Stark and her Tully red hair that Alayne has inherited. But she is Alayne Stone to them, Princess Arianne Martell's bastard paramour, tanned, free with her opinions, Dornish to the bone despite her Vale surname.

Her ruse still holds.

* * *

It is strange how nothing much changes with the arrival of the Northern delegation. Alayne still sews, still spends time with Obara, Nym and Tyene, still tells stories to the littlest Sand Snakes, still kisses Arianne in the increasingly cool Dornish evenings. Once again, she is surprised that she remains included in the council chambers. It is her and Arianne, Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn, sometimes Ellaria, a couple of other Dornish advisors and Queen Daenerys and her entourage from before. Now they are joined by the Northern delegation, though they are noticeably lacking women. There is Robb, Lords Bolton, Karstark, and Umber.

The first council had started awkwardly, with the Northern lords slow to speak of details until lord Bolton had asked when the women were to leave so that they could get down to business. Alayne had stiffened at that, and Arianne put her hand on her arm. Then Queen Daenerys coolly asked if that included her. Alayne had to duck her head as her court mask failed and a smirk overtook her face.

* * *

Women in Dorne have certain rights that those in the other Kingdoms lack. The right to hold property and to inherit a title, if they are the oldest – bless Queen Nymeria for that! – the right to take lovers and to marry as they please. Of course, marriages among the noble-born remain mostly about alliances and bargains; but at least daughters are treated just as sons in the face of that sometimes mercenary jockeying for power. Part of this freedom is reflected in Dornish dress. If it is hot, or rather when it is hot, Dornish people of both sexes dress scandalously light in the eyes of other Westerosi. But why dress like a Silent Sister, when you own yourself?

Sometimes this custom leads to misunderstandings with other Westerosi, such as the one Alayne is coming upon now. She has gone looking for Doree, whom she sent to fetch cool mint tea and iced vegetable soup for a light siesta meal. The last few days have been sweltering, more reminiscent of Summer than the early Winter they have now. Both Doree and Alayne are dressed for the heat, in thin silks with plunging backs.

"Ser," Alayne hears Doree say calmly from around a corner in the corridor. "I have no interest in you. Let me be on my way."

Alayne smiles at that. Dear, sweet, blunt Doree. Alayne, born outside of Dorne, also hears what Doree doesn't say, what Doree isn't even thinking. Doree offers no excuse. Just – I am not interested, please leave, calm and unworried. Why should she be worried, after all? Sweet Doree has never feared men for men have never made her fear them.

A maid from any other Kingdom would have added an excuse, a protest – I have a sweetheart, I am married, my mistress is expecting me. They would all have meant the same: I belong to someone else, I am protected. (I need to be protected from you. My word isn't enough.) In Dorne she doesn't need to.

But then-

"You dress more immodestly than any whore I have ever had. Quit that, girl, anyone can see what you are about. Just come with me," the man says, and oh! Oh. A Northern accent. Alayne hears flesh meeting flesh and feels a frisson of something go through her. No. That is a lie, it is fear. She hurries.

"Unhand me, ser. I said that I am not interested," Doree says with more emphasis, still fearless. There is a great clatter and a muffled grunt. Alayne rounds the corner and sees the Northern man roughly holding Doree to him, his mouth mashed to hers, his fingers digging into her bare back. Then he stumbles back and doubles over. There is blood on his face and he groans, clutching at his privates. He straightens and steps towards Doree again, towering over her.

Alayne strides forward and pulls Doree behind her. She meets his enraged eyes. A Bolton bannerman, she thinks. Trouble, trouble, trouble.

"Leave," Alayne says. "Leave now, we'll chalk this up to a misunderstanding and I won't have you gelded."

"Another whore," the man spits out and comes at them. Time stills and Alayne does exactly as Obara has shown her. She slashes with her dagger, kicks out and then grabs Doree and runs. She doesn't stop until she gets to Arianne.

* * *

It had been a lark at first, Obara teaching her a few things to defend herself. They were so warlike, the oldest Sand Snakes. Alayne would never be like them, but these days she carried a dagger confidently and while the sheath was covered in black silk and gold thread, the hilt was wrapped in leather to give a good grip. She kept the blade sharp and well oiled, but at the very edge there was the sheen of something iridescent, that had an acrid tang to the nose. A gift from Tyene Sand. Alayne would only ever need a scratch to defend herself.

Alayne knew she had done more than scratch the Bolton bannerman. That was what had her worried now, wrapped in Arianne's arms as she was. His death would complicate things. Had it been a Dornishman - or a woman, for that matter – the assault would have been easily resolved. Doree's dishevelled clothing, bruised lips and bloodied nails along with Alayne's testimony, brought to Princess Arianne Martell, or any other Martell, would have sufficed. The severity of his punishment would then have been dependent on whether he apologised to Doree, whether she accepted it, and precedent. Most likely, he would have owed Doree recompense, there would have been some corporeal punishment and he would have been forbidden to ever approach Doree again. A Dornishman would have been the shamed one, for the mere attempt at assault. But it was a Northern bannerman, and now Alayne feels everything spinning out of control.

Alayne tucks her head into Arianne's shoulder. It might look silly, seeing how she is so much taller than her lover, but she doesn't care. Beside her Doree is a little shaken, but mostly indignant. Alayne still holds her hand from within Arianne's embrace, and is glad, so glad, that Doree isn't afraid. Because Alayne is, but she is also angry. How dare they come here and break the laws of Mother Dorne?

* * *

Ordinarily, Doree would speak for herself in a situation like this. But this has also become a matter of politics, so while she will present her testimony, Alayne and Arianne will also speak for her.

Prince Doran is presiding over the meeting. They are all sitting at the round council table and Alayne is grateful that she doesn't have to stand like some supplicant. The Northern lords present, Robb and Lord Bolton, look grave. The Bolton bannerman is pale and looks sick, but he will live since Alayne was quick to send word to the Maester of what poison she had on her dagger.

If the Northern lords think to get some kind of concession out of this, they are sorely mistaken. Their man is entirely in the wrong. While his death would have been unfortunate, it would have redeemed any shame of his. Of course, the rest of Westeros doesn't see it like that, but Prince Doran is adamant.

Then the Bolton bannerman, the would-be rapist, says something so disparaging and offensive that Alayne who until successfully had clung to her calm, can't help but to flare up. She stands, her chair falling behind her.

"We are free women of Dorne. You come here seeking an alliance. How dare you? You have no right!" Alayne's court mask has cracked utterly. She takes a calming breath and curtsies to Prince Doran and Arianne. "My prince, princess, excuse me." She leaves.

Behind her she hears someone else getting up and following. She doesn't care. She stalks towards the gardens, needing space. Someone catches her arm and spins her around. Robb. He stares at her, wild-eyed, but remains silent.

"Lord Robb?" Alayne prompts.

"…Sansa? Sister?"

* * *

AN: Working title: "Cliffie! Oops I did it again"...

/Edit to put in the line breaks that stupid ff-dot-net ate *sigh*


	4. So unprepared for this

Alayne runs. (Sansa runs.)

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She should have smiled her cool court smile and denied it. Should have been Alayne, like she has lived Alayne for years now. But she didn't. The assault on Doree and the meeting afterwards left her shaken, left her angry and-

(This is a disaster.)

Robb is following her. Again.

He catches up to her in the garden. Alayne has picked a somewhat secluded spot, because now the confrontation is inevitable. Her running is all the confirmation Robb could ever need.

She is so unprepared for this, despite fearing it for as long as she has been running. She has imagined any and every kind of discovery possible – from Arianne finding out before Alayne told her the truth, to her father realising the truth and sending for her, to Baelish somehow hearing of her and having her brought to him. She has even had nightmares of ending up on her knees, humiliated and broken yet again, before the Iron Throne and the Bastard King.

Upon hearing that Robb would be leading the delegation to Dorne, she has of course imagined how an eventual showdown between them would go many times. This is real, though. There are no take-backs now. And how does she explain her resentment for Dead Robb, to this living Robb? How can she justify her flight, when nothing at all happened? In all her make-believe confrontations, she never did solve that problem.

Now here they are, face to face. Robb reaches out with a hand, plaintive, and Alayne steps back. A hand is a trap. Her shoulders are tight with tension. She wants him to keep his distance. She is very aware of how much stronger than her he is, despite her being a tall woman.

"It really is you, right? It's been so long, Sansa," he says.

"…yes," she replies.

"We thought you were dead! How did you get here?" he bursts out. "Are the Martells holding you hostage?"

"No. I ran here."

"But why?"

Here it is. She is slamming up against that wall. How can she reply?

"I was afraid."

"Of what?"

Alayne remains silent. She doesn't want to explain.

"Sansa, please! We buried you! We mourned you! Why did you run away? Why here, why hide, why keep hiding? Even when I came here? You didn't say a word!" Robb sounds more agitated with every question, his voice growing stronger and more strident. Then suddenly he tenses and goes very, very still. Obara Sand has come up behind him.

"Is Lord Robb bothering you, Alayne?" Obara asks. "Because if he is…"

"No. No, thank you, Obara. It is fine," Alayne says and relaxes. Robb being caught off-guard has somehow settled her, and Obara's hostility on her behalf warms her. "We have private matters to discuss, but I think we'd better move to my chambers for that. You can tell Princess Arianne that I'm speaking with Lord Robb about that issue. She'll know what I'm talking about."

* * *

Alayne paces. Back and forth, back and forth before the windows. Robb is seated by her sewing table, surrounded by Martell-orange silk. A gown for Arianne.

"You died, Robb. Everyone died. Winterfell burned. I couldn't live it again," she says at last, and the whole ugly story comes tumbling out. She doesn't try to hide her bitterness, or the distrust. She has already well and truly alienated her family. Why try to pretty it up? All she is waiting for now is the backlash, the condemnations of insanity and betrayal.

None come. Instead Robb stays silent, deep in thought. To Alayne it feels like the silence drags on for an eternity.

"I'd have though you mad, but some of the details… You couldn't possible have known them, living here for so many years. Just…" Robb sighs wearily. "Sansa…"

She meets his eyes.

"What happens now?

She looks down.

"You'll have to come home, of course. Mother and father will be overjoyed. Mother was inconsolable when we buried you and-"

She backs up, bare unscarred back flush against the cool stone wall.

"I can't. I won't," she says. "My life is here. Arianne is here!"

Robb looks at her, surprised at her sudden vehemence. He visibly composes himself and draws breath to speak when Alayne deliberately steps away from the wall and cuts in.

"I won't leave Dorne, and I won't leave Arianne! My life is here. Everyone knows Sansa Stark is dead; let her stay that way! I'm just a bastard girl who's done well for herself. I'm useful to those I care about here, Robb. I'm valued by the Martells. I love and I am loved, and I am free! I won't go back to living in fear and at the sufferance of men, always less. You are a fool to think I would in the first place, Robb Stark!"

While Alayne was speaking, Arianne has quietly slipped into the room. She walks up to stand beside Alayne, who pulls Arianne into an embrace, Arianne's back against her front, her arms around Arianne's waist, crossed under her chest.

"Well, Robb Stark, do you want your sister back, or do you want her happy? Because you cannot have both," Arianne says.

"No, actually you can't have either, because your sister is dead. I'm Alayne Stone of Dorne. I'm exactly where I want to be," Alayne says.

Robb closes his eyes and seems to gather himself. He still looks taken aback at her tirade. The sister of his memories had been a child, a meek, polite thing who would never tell a lord no. Alayne is courteous, certainly, but she doesn't efface herself.

"So I see," Robb says. "You really mean it, don't you, Sansa? That you won't come back?"

"Alayne."

"Alayne?"

"It's my name."

"Alayne, then. But please, will you at least keep in touch? Maybe consider coming for a visit? Your death nearly broke our family. You have a new little sister; don't you want to see her? And Rickon, he's grown lots."

Finally, Robb appears to accept, if not to understand. Alayne is relieved. It is good to see him, and now that the cat is out of the bag, she'll be able to speak to him about their home and their family. She steps forward, hand stretched out and pulls her brother into a hug.

* * *

Her confrontation with Robb was like lancing a boil, painful but probably neccesary. It feels like healing. She remains Alayne, but now she has a link to her past. She speaks with Robb as often as opportunity allows. He shares news of their family and the North, while she speaks of her experiences, both the life-never-lived, and her flight to Dorne. Mostly she speaks of her life here, though. He seems glad and relieved at her independence and happiness, though maybe a little mystified at how easily she has settled into Dornish culture.

When Robb speaks of what transpired after her suppose death it becomes clear that her absence somehow saved her family. Her death made them more cautious. It had been believed that wildings or outlaws had killed her, just as she had intended. Her family had reacted to that. Her father tightened security, increased patrols, and the general fervour made him start to refurbish Winterfell. They caught many more criminals and wildlings that way, among them an especially foul one called Reek - the first man Robb witnessed being sentenced and executed.

They also heard of a threat from north of the Wall from captured wildlings and deserters. At first everyone had been inclined to dismiss the tales of wights and Others as the ramblings of madmen desperate to escape a death sentence, but when the tale kept being told, in different ways by different people, her father investigated. Robb says that it is in part the fact that magic and the Others apparently are real, that made him accept her story so easily. He has seen many strange things in the North by now, her brother.

Alayne had never heard of the Others in her alternate life, but in this one there has been reports spreading from the North for years. Initially, she hadn't believed in them either, but then Prince Doran sent Prince Oberyn to Oldtown to see the wight's hand and head sent from the North with his own eyes. His account of death-gray skin, still-snapping jaws and rolling eyes convinced the entire Dornish court.

Anyway, Alayne is grateful for the apparent fire the discovery of the wights lit in the North. That preparedness had served them well in the war in the South. Robb's tale of the Court's visit to Winterfell line up almost exactly with her own memories. Bran still fell, tragically. Her father still went South. Obviously, Robb had still needed to remain at Winterfell, and Bran and little Rick along with mother. Only Arya could come South. Following the King's death and their father's imprisonment she had escaped and successfully made it North with Nymeria, living of the land and keeping hidden. When Arya turned up that was one less bargaining piece that the Lannisters held.

Robb had still been blooded in the brief war. This time, though, he'd had a more cohesive, well-prepared force to field, due to the threat north of the Wall. Other small changes ad also led to Jon coming with him, instead of taking the Black, and Theon entirely repudiating his family. (So now Alayne has two new distinctions to make. This Jon, versus Night's Watch-Jon. This Theon, versus Traitor Theon. She is glad.)

Without Arya and with Jaime Lannister captured, the Lannisters had been forced to trade their father. And so, the Starks and their bannermen had returned home and turned their gazes north of the Wall. Later they had come to seek allies in their fight against the Others. That part of the story Alayne is familiar with. What better to defeat eternal ice than dragonfire and Dornish spears?

Gods, but her death really had sent ripples across the waters of fate. Hearing Robb's tale she can finally begin to let go of her bitterness an old hurt. So far everything really has turned out for the best, both for her and for her family.

* * *

AN: And that's all she wrote. Hope it satisfies :)


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